Chatham bid goodnight to Mrs. Nesbit and went to his door. He fumbled through his keyring, found the correct one and went inside, right away noticing the familiar, cool dampness that came from leaving the furnace off all day. When he closed the door, it struck him that the room seemed darker than usual, no illumination from the streetlights filtering in from the front window. Chatham tried to remember if he had closed the drapes for some reason. Then something else seemed off, though he wasn’t sure just what. A moment later his instincts were proven correct. A light came on. When his eyes adjusted, he saw two people sitting comfortably in the matching armchairs of his living room, a man and a woman he’d never met. He recognized them instantly.
“Good evening, Inspector,” Slaton said.
Chatham paused to regard his intruders. The man looked casual and relaxed, a manner at odds with the handgun lying obtrusively in his lap. The woman, rigid and nervous, was the far less worrisome of the two.
“Is it?” Chatham replied. He casually removed his topcoat, noticing the man’s hand tense almost imperceptibly over the gun. “At ease, sir. I don’t carry a weapon. And I might add, it is illegal to do so in this country.” He calmly walked to the thermostat and turned on the furnace. “It will take a few minutes to warm. Can I offer you some tea?”
Slaton grinned. “No, thank you.”
“Well that settles it then, you’re not an Englishman. At least I had that much right. Are you Israeli?”
“I am.”
Chatham was pleased. “Good, good. I was headed in the right direction, then. Let’s see … Mossad?”
Slaton nodded, still allowing Chatham to lead, “I was. But I’m not sure if it still applies.”
Chatham beamed and turned his attention to Christine, “And you, dear. I must say I have been vexed about how you fit into this.”
“So have I, Inspector.”
“We’ll get to all that,” Slaton said.
“Good,” said Chatham, “although with that weapon so clearly in view I suppose you’ve not come here to surrender.”
“No,” Slaton replied.
“I have,” Christine chimed in.
Chatham considered that. “I must say miss, from what I know, you’re not the one who’s committed the crimes here. It’s your associate who’s left a trail of bodies across this country. In all honesty, I wouldn’t have been surprised if we had eventually found you in a shallow grave in the moors.”
“You’re wrong about that,” she retorted. “David is the only reason I’m still here. Yes, he’s killed and hurt people, but it was only in self-defense. We’re being chased, Inspector. And it all has to do with those two nuclear weapons.”
Chatham raised an eyebrow. His voice softened. “I see.”
Slaton said, “Inspector, have a seat. I’d like to tell you a story.”
Chapter Fifteen
Chatham listened as Slaton covered everything. How Polaris Venture had gone down, how Christine had rescued him and unwittingly gotten involved. The Israeli explained Penzance; that he had gone back guessing Itzaak Simon and his friend, or someone like them, would show up. Then he made a convincing case that he’d felt obligated to take Christine with him, to protect her from the danger he’d put her in. Chatham didn’t interrupt once, but mentally filed away questions for later. Once the facts were laid out, the Israeli got to why they were here.
“When these people discovered that Christine had rescued me, she instantly became a problem. I don’t think they’d been able to salvage the weapons yet, and she knew roughly where Polaris Venture was. That’s why they went after her. I convinced Christine to not go to the police right away because they wouldn’t protect her.”
“We do that sort of thing quite well,” Chatham disagreed.
“I didn’t say you wouldn’t be able to protect her. I said you wouldn’t. Last week there was nothing concrete to support what I’ve just told you. I doubt anyone would have believed her.”
“And now?”
Slaton nodded toward Christine, “This morning we figured it out. I think we know exactly where Polaris Venture is.”
Christine, taking her cue, produced the atlas and opened it to the appropriate page. She moved next to Chatham and pointed out the seamount. “By our calculations, she went down here, in roughly 130 feet of water.”
“Easily salvageable,” Slaton added. “You wouldn’t even need any fancy equipment.”
Chatham eyed the book critically and tried to remember the description of the weapon found in Eastbourne. “How heavy are these devices?”
“A little over 400 pounds. Getting into Polaris Venture and dragging them clear would have been the hard part. Then you just attach a couple of inflatable salvage buoys. At the surface you could easily lift them out with a small winch. With good conditions, and if Polaris Venture settled favorably, it wouldn’t take more than half a day. It looks like that salvage has already taken place.” Slaton gestured to Christine, “And if that’s the case, Christine is no longer a threat to these people.”
“What about you?” Chatham queried.
“I’m very much a threat to them.”
Chatham frowned. “So who are these Mossad villains you keep referring to? Pro-Arab Israelis? Are they being bought off? How could there be so many of them? And here in England, no less?”
Slaton hesitated, “That part I don’t understand. We’ve had our share of spies and turncoats like any country, but I could never have imagined something on this scale.”
Chatham wondered if Slaton was truly as mystified as he appeared. “Sounds rather fantastic, if you ask me.”
“Any more fantastic than if I’d told you yesterday that you’d find a nuclear weapon on a pleasure boat in Eastbourne?”
Chatham tried to change tack. “So you’re going to leave Dr. Palmer in my custody?”
Christine shifted restlessly, “I don’t like the word custody. David—”
Slaton cut her off by raising his hand with a violent slashing motion. A moment later there was a knock on the door. A sharp, rapid-fire knock. Nathan Chatham knew precisely who it was.
From behind the heavy wood door a sing-song voice called out, “Yoo-hoo, Inspector. I’ve got something for you.”
“It’s Mrs. Nesbit,” Chatham said at a whisper. “She makes tarts every Tuesday. Always brings one over.”
Slaton shook his head and put a finger to his lips. Another knock, then silence. Slaton waited a full minute before speaking again.
“Will she come back?”
“Probably not,” Chatham said. “She’ll just keep it until tomorrow.” Chatham watched as Slaton weighed that response, deconstructing it to uncover any deception, deciding if Mrs. Nesbit might cause complications. Apparently satisfied, the Mossad man went on.
“Inspector, I know you’ll evaluate everything we’re telling you. I know you’ll dig and cross-check, but the facts you find will reinforce that we’re on the level. Christine is guilty of nothing more than being in the wrong place at the wrong time. She will cooperate fully,” he shot her a pointed look, “and answer any questions you have. Before I leave, though, I want your assurances on a few things.”
Chatham took a stab at the first. “You wish for her to have immunity from prosecution.”
The two fugitives exchanged a glance. “Yes,” Slaton said.
“I can’t guarantee anything, but if your story holds true I can’t imagine she’d be guilty of much more than aiding and abetting you, sir. As long as she cooperates, I’ll do everything in my power to see that no charges are brought forward.”
“Fair enough,” Slaton said.